


Melancholia

by salanaland



Series: Kenway family feels [5]
Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Angst, Assassin's Creed: Forsaken, Depression, Family Feels, Feels, Forsaken spoilers, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Jenny is underrated, Kenway family feels, Loneliness, Where are my antidepressants
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-23
Updated: 2013-11-23
Packaged: 2018-01-02 10:47:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1055876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/salanaland/pseuds/salanaland
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Connor doesn't deal too well with the carriage wreck of his life for a little while.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Melancholia

He spent about a year living in trees, once he was able to climb them again. It was freeing; it made him feel empty, like he was nothing but air. The ground dragged him down when he had to return to it: there were graves there, and earthen mounds, and beneath them, bodies, all that remained of everyone foolish enough to love him. Their bones hidden but still a beacon to him, reminding him that he hadn't been strong enough, smart enough, wise enough, _there_ enough to deserve this love. He had focused on defiance, on revenge, but his hate had killed those he wanted closer to him, torn a gulf in his heart, and left unscathed the true villain of his life. 

So he lived in the branches, with only a book and a letter for company. He walked as far as he could without touching the ground, until that became a painful reminder, too. He haunted the cliffs near his house, not wishing to see it, remembering a night in the stables, bandits, his first kill. Was he hopelessly lost already, that night?

He sat staring dully at the stars, until a sharp whistle sounded nearby. He turned incuriously to look at the old woman edging along the branches. 

"Madam, you ought to return to the ground. It is not safe up here."

She kept creeping towards him. "I'm looking for the man inaccurately called Connor Kenway." 

His face was stiff and he produced, at best, half a grimace. "That is an interesting way of phrasing it." 

"Don't you hate how, when people know your father's name, they automatically assume it must be yours?"

"I have grown accustomed to it."

"I've given up arguing about it. I suspect when I die I'll be buried under my father's name. Although he wasn't there when I was born, nor did he have a clue about me until much later, after my mother's death." She smirked at him. "Sound familiar, Ratonhnhake:ton?" 

That got his attention. He had never really heard his name said with an English accent. And even though she said it very slowly, as if it had taken a lot of care, she had put forth the effort. "Yes, Madam, it does." 

She shook her finger at him. "Stop calling me Madam. Ugh! It makes me sound like some stuffy old gray haired lady." 

He looked pointedly at her gray hair, and her fine dress and intricate hairstyle. "Then, with respect, what may I call you?" 

She now looked positively gleeful. "Well, my _name_ is Jennifer Scott, but I've grown accustomed to answering to my father's surname. Helped me get the family house back, in fact. But you and _only_ you can perfectly accurately call me Aunt Jenny. Let's just not mention that name that begins with K, shall we?" 

He fell out of the tree. "A--Aunt Jenny? Why? Why did you come here?" 

She looked down at him. "Because I'm lonely, Nephew. I didn't want to die alone--I didn't want to _live_ alone anymore. And you're all that I have left. My father's dead, my mother's dead, my stepmother, my little brother..." 

He couldn't meet her eyes. 

"So I come over here, start asking around, went to your dad's grave and someone mentions there's a native man in a white hood who sits in the trees and stares at the grave sometimes. I asked why the devil a random native man would be at Haytham's grave and someone had heard a rumour about his mad bastard son, and someone else said you were his killer."

He licked his lips, nervous about her reaction. "Both rumors are true." Had he seen her? A summer day, her eyes hidden by hat and parasol, fine flowered dress buttoned up to her neck, only her chin visible, both of them staring silent and unmoving at the grave for hours. 

She nodded. "That doesn't surprise me." She clambered awkwardly down the tree as he was standing up. "I tracked you to here. All your friends in the town were very suspicious of me when I started asking about you. Wouldn't tell me a thing until a Mr Faulkner looked at me up close and allowed how I looked like Haytham. Said he was the worst passenger ever on a ship, yanked the wheel right out of your hands. _And_ he called the ship a _boat_." She shook her head at the sacrilege of it all. "Father would have been _so_ disappointed in perfect little Haytham." 

He couldn't help but smile. "What would he have thought of me?" He offered his arm for her to take. 

She linked her delicate hand through his elbow. "Well, nephew, to start with, he'd be right proud that you're an Assassin and a ship's captain. And he'd look at this land, this village, and he'd see how every single person adores you and would do anything for you. Protect you when you're weak, care for you when you're sick, try to run outsiders out of town when they ask too many questions. And he'd figure you must be a good and able man, and a great leader, to inspire everyone around you. But he would never have even tried to pronounce your name, I'll tell you that right now."

The smile felt foreign on his face as he steered her towards the tavern. "My father never attempted it either. Come, Aunt Jenny, let me introduce you properly to my friends." 

"Now, nephew, I've given this a lot of thought, and since you have no living parents, it's my duty to take on some of the responsibilities of parents for you, in loving memory of my annoying little brother and his one true love that I never got to meet. I take this very seriously."

"What sort of responsibilities are those?"

"Finding out if there's any young ladies you fancy, and asking when you're going to give me any great-nephews and great-nieces."

"Aunt Jenny! I am not ready for that, I am not even married--"

"--and we all know that's necessary for children."

He blushed. "Aunt Jenny, you are burning my innocent ears." 

"If they were a little less innocent they'd burn less. Wait, how can you captain a ship and have innocent ears?"

"It is possible."

"Psh." 

"...Do you really think she was his one true love?"

"Her name was Ziio, right? Or at least that's the best he could do with her name?"

"Yes. How did you know?"

"People say a lot of interesting things when they're delirious and close to death. If they say it just once, it probably means nothing. If they babble about nothing else for months, it means everything to them." She looked off into the distance, mouth tight. "It was a terrible time. And yet, it was the best we knew of each other. And Jim..." she shook her head ferociously. "They're both gone now, and I was older than either of them, and I'm still here. They lost so much, saving me." She bit her lip. "Haytham used to say, 'Ziio, please don't hate me, it's my sister, I've taken too long to find her already, please understand.' Every day. Without fail. He'd beg her..." She had to stop walking and press her fingers to her lips. "I thought he'd die and never see her again... and... and he lived, but she..." she trailed off, blinked, then began walking swiftly towards the manor house. "I think you'll have to introduce me properly to all your friends later. I think I need to rest now." 

Connor ran after her, catching her elbow so she turned to look at him. "Aunt Jenny, it is not your fault." 

She patted his hand with her other. "It's not yours either, nephew." 

After looking at each other silently for a moment, they walked up the hill together, home.

**Author's Note:**

> Trufax: Thomas Jefferson commented on the inherited "melancholy disposition" of my first cousin 8 times removed, Meriwether Lewis (of Lewis & Clark fame). Lewis may have committed suicide or been murdered; something fishy definitely happened that night. 
> 
> Just, y'know, background. On the author, who is not feeling funny.


End file.
